


I Can't Hear You Through The Noise

by Prettypornybarbie



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, It's Quite Cute, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Some Fluff, idk - Freeform, literally no plot at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettypornybarbie/pseuds/Prettypornybarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's come to love the Gallagher's house, and maybe - just maybe - the redhead that resides within it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Hear You Through The Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Noise by Regina Spektor
> 
> I don't own anyone or anything, this is my first time writing Gallavich - so leave me a comment of kudos.
> 
> I'm always taking prompts over at prettypornybarbie.tumblr.com

The Gallagher house had always been noisy. It wasn’t as though Mickey’s own house had ever been quiet, but this was on a whole different plane. Mickey had grown up in the midst of riots contained by walls, a warzone forged between red brick, settled under a slate tile roof. The Gallagher house was noisy, but not in such a heavily offensive way - it was an ongoing wave of parties and laughter - happiness, endurance, family; all forged into the very bricks that made up the residence. 

 

Mickey liked it here; more than he liked to admit. He wouldn’t cuddle Ian, still, but it was safe - comforting somehow to lie awake here at night, listening to the mutterings of the heart of the house; a TV on somewhere. It was so easy to feel settled with Ian flush against him, the boys touching at the shoulder, pinkie touching pinkie, knee to foot flush against one another. 

 

This house, so full of love that wasn’t his to take - full of a boy he wouldn’t let himself apply that word to, yet; full of family, strength, respect and a million other things that he had never managed to source within the walls of his own house. He hated to admit it, but this house felt more like a home than his own ever had. His was mere bricks and mortar; this was a living, breathing extension of the family that resided within it.

+++++

Mickey awakens to Ian eating - his legs crossed as he sits next to the dark haired boy on the bed, knee touching Mickey’s hip. It was so typically Ian - to be intimate without being invasive; it was one of the things that Mickey liked about Ian, though he’d rather die than admit it, that he’d always subtly pushed the boundaries. He’d quietly burrowed his way into Mickey’s life, until he was a piece of the furniture - steady, reliable, unrelenting. Mickey turns over, kisses Ian’s elbow, just once, softly - Ian’s attention is pulled slowly from his toast as he smiles softly, some humour in the grin.

 

“What was that for?” He asks through a mouthful of bread, licking butter from his fingers as he sets his plate down on the windowsill.

 

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Gallagher.” Ian rises to the bait, pulls Mickey onto his lip, the older boys lips crashing down on his. Ian forgets sometimes that things aren’t how they used to be - he expects crushing pressure, all teeth and a fight for dominance, lost within a matter of seconds; happening once in a blue moon. Instead, this time he gets soft teasing, Mickey’s tongue licking into his mouth and pulling him apart slowly.

 

“Where’s everybody?” Mickey murmurs against Ian’s lips, so close that Ian almost feels the words rather than hearing them. There’s the faint buzz of the TV or a radio somewhere in the distance, Mickey thinks he might be able to hear Kev singing off key next door.

 

“They’re not here.” The redhead replies, coaxing Mickey’s attention back to him. He brings a hand up, tugging it roughly through the older boys hair; making Mickey moan despite himself, locking his legs behind Ian’s waist as he grinds down subconsciously. Still shirtless from sleep, he presses his own bare skin against Ian’s - hot skin on hotter, enough and not even close to being enough in the same breath. Mickey whines - hot and dirty, lodged in his throat, hips bucking into Ian’s.

 

“Easy.” The younger boy comforts, pressing open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of Mickey’s shoulders and neck - the taste of the boys skin salt and warm from sleep proves addictive, moreish.

 

Ian tactically takes him apart, step by step - removes his underwear and allows his hands to lay claim to the expanse of skin that lies underneath. He strips his own underwear away, runs circles around the darker hired boy’s nipples with his tongue, waits until Mickey is pliant - begging and needy on top of him - before he gives him even an inch.

 

“Ian. Please, fuck.” Mickey’s voice is hard, but wanting, and Ian takes pity, spreading lube onto his fingers, running it to rub against Mickey’s puckered hole. “Fuck, I’m going to need you to give me more than that, Firecrotch.”

 

Ian smiles at the nickname, barely pressing the tip of his finger inside Mickey’s wanting hole, sliding in right to the first knuckle, peppering kisses again his collarbone and shoulder. Ian presses in slightly further, adjusting his angle until he brushes up against the sensitive spot that he’s been looking for. Mickey bucks into his partner, his dick brushing against Ian’s and only adding to the sensation. Mickey fucks back onto the finger, needing so much more - but Ian knows his lovers body better than he knows his own, and he’s sliding in a second finger as soon as Mickey’s ready; stretching, scissoring, consistently brushing Mickey’s prostate until the noises punches out of the older boy sound like sobs, uncomfortable and so acutely needy. Ian uses a third finger to stretch him that little bit further, makes sure that he’s ready.

 

“I swear to fucking god, Ian, if you don’t get in me, right now…”

 

Then Ian’s suddenly pulling his fingers out, leaving Mickey empty and wanting. He slicks up quickly, guiding Mickey down - settling him onto his cock, Mickey edging down inch by inch, until Ian’s bottomed out inside him. After a few seconds of getting comfortable, accommodating the girth within him - the glorious stretch and burn, Mickey starts to bounce on Ian’s cock - his hands anchoring him, one on the younger boy’s shoulder, one on his back.

 

“Fuck, Mick. So good, so gorgeous when you ride me.” Mickey wants to tell Ian to shut up, wants to deny all the praise - but his voice is leaving him in short, harsh bursts of noise, Ian’s length brushing against his prostate more times than not.

 

“I’m n… not gonna…l…l…last.” Mickey stutters, his cock curving towards his stomach, gloriously swollen - red and leaking, untouched and wanting. He reaches down to touch himself, but the redhead knocks his hand way.

 

“Oh, no you don’t - want you to come on my cock, untouched.” Mickey renews his rhythm, harder, faster, his front now plastered against Ian’s, as his teeth worry marks into the redhead’s neck. Noises are forced out of Mickey every bounce, his body needing something primal from Ian - and he’s so close, heat radiating across his stomach, flame ready to burst.

 

“Come for me.” Ian whispers against Mickey’s chest, and then Mickey is - white stripes spilling out between him and his lover. Ian isn’t far behind - tumbling over the cliff right after him, Mickey’s hole milking him for every last drop. The dark haired boy rests his forehead against his lover’s, smiling as he catches his breath - so utterly lost in the moment that the sound of the door shocks him, makes him jump - both boys laughing, guilty, giddy on hormones.

+++++

As Ian cleans up and Mickey lies back down waiting for his turn in the bathroom, he thinks of his own sounds - the ones the walls have just swallowed up. 

 

He hears footsteps on the stairs, doors opening and closing, laughter towards jokes that he can’t hear - he marvels at how much this feels like home. As the redhead walks back into the room, throwing him a washcloth with a tired grin, Mickey allows himself just the smallest hint of hope - that maybe it’s not just the building that’s starting to feel like home.


End file.
